Hermerella
by ducky-doll
Summary: *Ch 6 [yippee]!* To achieve her dreams, Hermione Granger is forced to work long, hard hours as a maid. One day a charming man comes into her life and saves her. Oliver Wood/Hermione Granger Romance. Plz R/R!
1. Always the Dreamer

Chapter One... 'Always the Dreamer'

Life hadn't always been tough for Hermione. Gracious no. She'd been Head Girl at Hogwarts, aced all of her classes and everybody expected her to go on to greater things. But Hermione had a dream and that dream was to one day produce amazing stories and articles for the Daily Prophet. In order to that, she was told she had to start small. Small for Hermione was cleaning the toilets at the Daily Prophet Offices and doing their filing, making cups of coffee and running errands for the real reporters. 

It was a life Hermione hated. Yes, she hated it with a passion. But her constant drive for success and that constant dream of one day writing proper things kept her motivated. The only problem with what she was doing (besides from being a long, tiring and boring job) was that she didn't get paid. It was the only way she could ever get a foot in the door and because of that, the Daily Prophet _knew_ she needed the work and therefore didn't pay her. Poor Hermione was stuck there.

But a girl has to live. She needs to be clothed and fed and the only way Hermione could get paid was to have another job. Hermione's other job was working as a house maid for the Nicholson family. She didn't mind the Nicholson family at all- infact most of them were pleasant, nice people, but she despised the two daughters. And the two daughters despised Hermione.

The first daughter's name was Annabella. Annabella was pretty and blonde, but one nasty little witch. She hated Hermione for only one reason... Hermione was clever. Now Annabella had attended Hogwarts too but had never done very well in classes. It wasn't that she didn't try, it was just that she didn't have the mind that Hermione had. What Annabella lacked in brains, she made up for in brawn. She spent hours in the bathroom each morning, primming herself and making sure she looked perfect for when visitors (mainly boys) came around.

The other sister was not so harsh. Infact, if you'd taken her away from the influential Annabella, she was rather friendly. Christina wasn't the pretty thing her sister was, she was plump with dark brown curls that cascaded down her back. Christina was cute yes, but just not as charming as Annabella. Sometimes when Annabella spilt things deliberately for Hermione to clean up, Christina would offer words of support under her breath. Though Hermione was grateful for the small gestures of kindness Christina showed, they were never enough for her to actually like the sisters.

The parents of Annabella and Christina were lovely. Thomas and Anita both worked full-time so they were never around to witness the cruel acts their daughters sometimes committed. They thought of their children as angels... perfect little angels who were always polite, always friendly and always thoughtful towards others... how wrong they were.

"Hermerella, Hermerella!" cried Annabella one day. "I _accidently_ spilt this nasty raspberry sauce on the carpet. Do clean it up please," she laughed wickedly. 

"Hermerella is right," agreed Christina though her heart wasn't in it. 

Annabella laughed again. "Yes, but in this fairytale there will be no Prince Charming to rescue her!" With that, she turned around and strutted out of the dining room and up the stairs, still laughing to herself.

Hermione, turning red with anger, muttered some nasty words under her breath before finding a damp cloth and beginning to mop up what Annabella had spilt.

"Why don't you just use magic?" asked Christina, a lot gentler now Annabella was gone. 

"Because your prat of a sister hid my wand!" Hermione exclaimed, too mad to look up from the floor.

"Oh," Christina's face fell. "Uhh... I'll look in her room for it later if you want?" she offered.

Hermione sighed and nodded. "Thanks Christina, that would be lovely."

Hermione spent the rest of the day cleaning up after the mess Annabella loved creating for her. She mopped, swept, brushed and washed everything until even Annabella gave up. Without the aid of her magic wand, Hermione was forced to do everything by hand and when it came time for her to go home, she was sore and tired from using every muscle in her arms and shoulders.

"Goodbye Hermerella!" said Annabella from upstairs, sarcastically baiting her.

Hermione didn't reply. Christina appeared out of the kitchen, an apple and an envelope in her hand. "Uhh... see you later Hermione," she said holding a them out to her. "Hope your writing is going okay." Hermione gratefully accepted the items and closed the door behind her.

Once she was outside and walking home, she took a bite of the red apple and opened the envelope. Inside was her usual disappointing pay but also something long, wrapped in tissue paper. She unrolled the wrapping and found her magic wand inside, cleaned and polished. She smiled at Christina's thoughtfulness and wished she'd just find the courage to stand up to her bully of an older sister. Happy to be able to clean her own home with the use of magic, Hermione quickened her step and arrived home earlier than usual.

"Hullo Rorry," she said as she leant against the closed front door. Her pet owl, 'Rorry' swooped down on her arm and pecked at her fingers affectionately.

With a quick flick of the wrist and a few enchanting words, Hermione's small one-bedroom flat was cleaned and sparkling.

"Oh, that was so much easier," she said with glee and sat down at her dimly lit wooden desk after pouring herself an apple juice.

"Time to write," she added as Rorry sat down next to her, ready to watch.

Hermione sat there for the next few hours, writing sheets and sheets of parchment. When she wasn't satisfied with her work she threw it in the old rafia woven basket behind her. The daylight was fading and after awhile night time set in, meaning Hermione had to light the old lamp next to her. But the light bulb was broken. 

"Lumos," she said and rested the wand in front of her.

As the clock struck twelve, Hermione realised she needed to sleep. She had another frantic day ahead of her, more work at the Daily Prophet Office and then an afternoon shift at the Nicholson's. Apparently they were expecting guests so Hermione had to act as a maid, cook and waitress the next night. It was going to be long and probably very boring, something she was certainly not looking forward to.

She put the ink lid back on the bottle and sleepily trudged into the bedroom. She didn't even bother changing out of her working clothes and as soon as her head hit the old, lumpy pillow she fell right asleep and spent the night dreaming that Prince Charming _would_ come to save her and that he _would_ rescue her from a life with Annabella.


	2. Oliver Wood?

****

Chapter Two... 'Oliver Wood?'

"Owls need feeding, Newspapers attaching and there is a meeting taking place in the Briefing Room- they need coffee!" a man named Albert Fronds was rattling off a list to Hermione who was exhausted having just mopped the kitchen area floors.

She nodded wearily. "Yeah okay."

Albert looked up from the list. "Yeah? What sort of an English word is that Ms. Granger? And you expect to be a journalist? Hoohah!"

Hermione turned red. "Sorry, sir. I'm just a little tired."

"If you're tired now then imagine what it would be like if you were working 24/7 around the clock, turning boring issues into the most, exciting, in depth reports ever!" For a moment Albert looked like he was standing centre stage, a microphone in hand, with an audience clapping. Hermione put it down to sheer delirium.

"Yes, I understand," replied Hermione. _Yeah and what would it be like for you if you had to mop, clean, wash, tidy and brush 24/7 around the clock?_ she said in her head.

Before Albert could lecture her any further, he was distracted by a pretty young girl wearing a bright red suit. "Scuse me Sir," she was tugging on the sleeve of his suit jacket.

"Yes what is it Missy?" he asked. Hermione wondered whether the girl's name was actually 'Missy'. 

"Problem in the printing room."

"I'll see to it immediately," replied Albert. "Make sure you get all of those chores done," he added turning back to Hermione.

Hesitantly, she nodded. "Yes boss."

The rest of the morning dragged on for what seemed like an eternity. The staffroom dishes needed to be washed, coffee mugs needed filling in the meetings and carpet needed to be vacuumed. Of course with the use of magic, this was much easier than it would have been for any ordinary muggle but even our own Wonder Witch Hermione was struggling.

At last the hands of the clock slowly tick tocked onto 2pm (labelled more appropriately 'Knock Off Time') and Hermione wearily tucked her wand into her dirty work robes pocket and muttered to the timing machine which kept record of how many hours one had done.

On her way out she quickly ambushed Albert into a corner.

"Miss Granger, I do hope this is important," he said, looking frantically around.

"It's _very_ important," she assured him.

"Eh.... very well then."

"You do have my resume on file still don't you?" Hermione demanded more than asked. She was close to overstepping the polite boundary (along with the personal space one) but she was too frustrated and tired to care. 

He nervously nodded. Hermione was a bit scary.

"And you _will_ let me know if any new positions open, won't you?" she asked, a bit nicer and calmer. Albert must have got a grip on himself and redeemed his superior position.

"Miss Granger!" he ordered. "I will let you know if any positions are open, _if _I feel like it. Now, if you do not want to lose your job I demand you to leave me alone!" He pointed a finger at the door which coincidently, swung open.

Her head low and her eyes raging with fury, Hermione stalked out of the office and all the way home. Not that she'd be able to stay there long. Next it was off to the Nicholsons and their little dinner party or whatever it was.

* * * * *

"Hermerella," greeted Annabella at the door to the Nicholsons. "How wonderful it is to see you," she said sarcastically, 'accidently' bumping Hermione into the door handle as she let her in.

Frantically rubbing her stomach where the door knob had connected, Hermione ignored Annabella's taunts and made her way through to the kitchen. _You're getting paid for this,_ she reminded herself, automatically pulling out some pots and pans ready to cook.

She read over the instructions left for her as the rest of the family were busy upstairs getting themselves looking perfect for when the guests arrived. Dinner parties were common in this family so Hermione assumed it would be more distant relatives or business associates. She started making the sweet cherry pudding, and seeing as waving a wand around the kitchen didn't require much effort, she began drifting into her own thoughts- thoughts of true love, true happiness and a true spot at the Daily Prophet.

The pudding aside now, Hermione was just finishing up the rest of the cooking when she realised she was being watched.

"Annabella!" she jumped and tried to cover up the surprise.

Annabella did not notice this though as she was too busy sighing dramatically as she held out something in her arms for Hermione.

"What's this?" asked Hermione, taking it from her.

"An outfit," replied Annabella reluctantly. "From Mum, not me," she added quickly.

"An outfit?" Mrs. Nicholson had had many dinner parties before but she'd never given Hermione an outfit for it.

"Yes, an outfit," hissed Annabella. "Mum said you've been good to us so you can have this to wear tonight when you're working. It will make you more presentable as she so kindly put it. I'd say it's just to cover up your dog ugly features which is a pretty mean feat."

Hermione pretended Annabella wasn't even in the room and just opened out the pretty clothing bag. Inside were some lovely black pants, a fitted white shirt and short loose black robes, just like a real waitress in a restaurant would wear. 

She muttered a quick thanks to Annabella who responded with a grunt and turned back to where she was working. Perhaps tonight wouldn't be quite as horrible as normal.

* * * * *

Before she knew it, it was quarter to seven and Hermione still hadn't changed into her good clothes. She ran up the stairs into the bathroom she'd worked so hard on that afternoon to clean and changed in record time. Downstairs she heard the doorbell ring and answering the door being one of her many jobs, she raced down the stairs again, nearly tripped over the last two, plastered a smile on her face and opened the door.

There stood a pleasant looking older man wearing black dress robes, accompanied by a happy looking lady wearing bright red. Behind him was the back of an unhappy looking younger man.

"Hello, welcome to the Nicholson Residence," greeted Hermione, feeling the fake happiness wear off.

"Hello dear," said the man, shaking her hand. "I'm Barry Wood, this is my wife Anette and our son... Oliver. Oliver, turn and say hello would you?" Barry gave the younger man a thump on the back.

Oliver Wood? The same Oliver Wood who had gone to school at Hogwarts? 

The man turned around sulkily and gave Hermione a half smile. He obviously didn't recognise her.

"Well please come in," Hermione said, sort of disappointed. She led them into the sitting area where the Nicholsons were waiting, a picture of elegance and style.

Mrs. Nicholson was sitting in an armchair, looking beautiful with her dress robes and make-up. Mr. Nicholson was opposite, looking equally as dashing. Annabella fluttered her eyelashes immediately at Oliver as he uncomfortably made his way past her (admit it, the guy is hot) and Christina was the only one looking out of place... sitting rigidly on the very edge of the sofa.

Hermione couldn't help but feel insanely jealous of Annabella who looked like a famous model. Her hair was styled to perfection, her make-up immaculate and her dress robes couldn't have been more brilliant and suited to her.

Annebella caught a glimpse of Hermione staring at her and smirked before crossing her legs towards Oliver and starting a conversation by moving closer while the adults all greeted each other.

Hermione sighed and headed back to the kitchen... that was where she belonged.

****

Author's Note: Sorry it's such a short chapter but I really don't have time to write more right now. Life is hectic for me, what with the whole Hogwarts Weekly thing to organise (plus I'm falling behind in school and if I do badly this semester then I won't get to have the Internet anymore which would mean no more ffnet and I can't live without Harry Potter fanfiction). Anyway, please keep an eye out of the Hogwarts Weekly- it's a collaboration between about 10 writers on fanfiction.net and we are producing an in character newspaper by the Hogwarts students. Look out for it! I'll update Hermerella as soon as I can too... I feel terrible for making you all wait so long for everything. Hope the Oliver-sighting makes this fic a bit more bearable- I think it sucks right now and you can feel free to tell me it sucks in your review. Definetly not my best work.


	3. Hermione Granger?

****

Chapter Three... 'Hermione Granger?'

Hermione continued to stir a casserole so the ingredients wouldn't stick to the side of the pot. She listened to the guests having a wonderful time laughing and joking with each other. Occasionally she even heard the sounds of Oliver's laugh, _he must be having an all right time after all, _Hermione thought as she rested a soup ladle aside. 

She started humming a lullaby her mother had taught her to make the time pass by quicker. She became so swept up in the melody that she began to sing louder and could practically hear people singing it in her head with her. As she began to wipe up some sauce she'd spilt on the bench, she realised why.

In shock, Hermione spun around and found herself staring at Oliver Wood who was smiling, empty glasses in his hands.

"Uh hi," he said.

"Hi," she replied nervously. "Er here, let me take that for you," she tried to take the glasses from him but he resisted.

"No, it's all right. Really."

"No," insisted Hermione trying to take them again. "I'm the maid, it's my job! You're a guest. Let me take _them_," she managed to pull a few free but to both of their horrors, one slipped and went crashing onto the tiled floor with a heavy crash.

Hermione froze for a moment, expecting to hear someone come running in to yell at her clumsiness. Sure enough, within seconds Annabella arrived, a smirk on her face.

"Oh, look what's happened," she murmured, standing awfully close to Oliver.

  
"It was entirely my fault," interrupted Oliver, sensing the dangerous vibe between the two girls.  
  
"I'm sure she didn't mean it," said Annabella, talking to Oliver but eying Hermione. "Why don't we just return to the sitting room and leave the maid to clean it up," she finished, emphasising the word 'maid' like it was something dirty and untouchable.

Oliver nodded hesitantly, took one last look at Hermione and frowned, slightly confused, before following Annabella back to where the rest of the family was.

Hermione sighed and continued to clean up. Had he recognised her yet? Did he realise what sort of person Annabella was? Surely he had to have noticed how nasty she was- Annabella practically radiated hatred. 

Course was followed after course after course and Hermione could hardly believe these people could eat so much. Dessert followed and by the time it came to collecting the dishes for them, she took one look around the table and couldn't help but grin at how full everyone looked.

Christina was leaning back and staring out the window as if she would have liked to have been anywhere but there. Mr and Mrs Nicholson were both patting their stomachs slightly and smiling at Mr and Mrs Wood who also looked very full. Oliver was clearing up some plates, possibly to help Hermione (which she liked the thought of) while even Annabella looked stuffed. Hermione couldn't help but notice how ugly she looked now that the make-up was wearing off and the hair wasn't so perfectly styled.

"Here let me help," Oliver assisted and Hermione didn't even try to put up a fight. They both walked carefully into the kitchen and balanced the piles of dishes on the sink.

"You look familiar," Oliver told Hermione after a minute. It had been bugging him all night. Who did that maid girl look like? He couldn't put his finger on it and he knew if he didn't figure it out he'd go home and have a sleepless night because it would annoy him. 

"Do I?" questioned Hermione, amused.

"Yes, I just can't put my finger on it..." he stared at her again and a crease appeared in his brow. 

He looks so cute when he thinks, Hermione giggled.

"I can put a finger on it," she finally said when she figured she'd left him long enough to try and figure it out. "I'm disappointed you don't remember me Oliver Wood," she said.

"Wait... it's coming to me..." he continued.

"Being such a good friend to your best seeker..."

"...Hermione Granger!" Oliver finally blurted out.

"Congratulations!" Hermione laughed.

"Ah I KNEW it was you! How in the world did you get stuck doing this job?" he asked, more serious now. "You were so clever. I still remember that spell you put on Harry's glasses to repel the water in that very crucial Quidditch match."

Hermione blushed. Oliver had looked like he wanted to kiss her he had been so happy. She slightly wished he had. Then she mentally slapped herself for being so silly. "Oh it's a long story really."

"I have a long time. Trust me, the conversation in here has got to be better than out there," he added, gesturing back into the dining room where there was much pointless talking going on.

"Okay... well...." Hermione proceeded to tell him pretty much everything that had happened in the last few years of her life- everything from the newspaper to the Nicholsons and everything in between. It felt really good to get everything out. Nobody had ever listened to Hermione as much as Oliver did that evening. He nodded, offered his thoughts every so often and most of all, didn't try to turn the story around so it was about him. He focused on Hermione and her feelings and what was happening to her and she was most touched by it.

After awhile Hermione stopped.

"What?" he asked. "Something wrong?"

"Oh no, look at the time!" she glanced at her watch.

"Yes, yes, look at the time," said someone standing in the doorway. It was Mrs. Wood. "Come on now Oliver, we have to get a move on, your father has to start work early tomorrow."

Oliver looked back at Hermione. "It's been excellent talking to you," he said reluctantly following his family out to the front door. Hermione also followed. It was another of her duties to make sure everyone had their jackets and scarves.

She handed them out at the door.

"It's been lovely to see you," Annabella whispered in Oliver's ear before planting a kiss on his cheek. A kiss that lasted longer than necessary. Oliver watched Hermione's reaction out of the corner of his eye. She didn't look impressed. 

"Uh it's been neat to see you too I guess... Annabella," Oliver replied, forcing a smile. He gave Christina a genuine warm hug and then turned to Hermione. 

"Great to talk to you Oliver," she said, handing him his jacket.

"Thanks, you too," he said, leaning forward to give her a kiss on the cheek but she turned away. 

"Well, I'll see you some time then," she said, stepping back. "Maybe in another five years or so."

"Yeah," said Oliver awkwardly and uncomfortably now that his kiss had been shunned off. "I'll uh see you then."

The Nicholsons watched the Woods depart from the house, all waving and smiling. 

As Oliver left with his family he couldn't help but think about that girl Hermione. How unhappy she seemed. How she was trying to cover up her sadness with her determination to be strong but how it just wasn't working. She was so unhappy! As he arrived home and went straight up to his room, he lay on his bed and thought. What if it was another 5 years before he saw her again? What if he never saw her again? What if Hermione died with that as her job? He couldn't let it happen. He just couldn't.

****

Author's Note: A bit of a pointless chapter but I thought it was necessary just to get the connections between Oliver and Hermione happening. I don't think this will be a terribly long fic to be honest. I don't think it has much going on. Next chapter? A ball maybe! Yes, that would be exciting wouldn't it? Though Oliver now knows it was Hermione who's the maid. Oh well, I think a ball would introduce some serious fluff and hopefully something horrible for Annabella who is truly getting on my nerves at the moment. By the way, thanks for all your generous reviews, I'm sorry I've kept you waiting so long for these chapters!


	4. A Midsummer Night's Dream

****

Author's Note: Well it's been a good six months at least since I started this story. I sort of went off fanfiction for awhile… it just wasn't holding my interest anymore. However I recently checked back at my account to find I was still getting reviews so I got back into it and I am glad I have. This story has proved to be the most popular (I have even received abusive e-mails for not continuing it) so I figured I'd have a go at writing more. Forgive me if this chapter is crap because it might take me awhile to get all the way into it again (I have forgotten my previous writing style).

****

Chapter Four... 'A Midsummer Night's Dream'

Hermione sank back into a canvas chair when she back in her little home. She smiled, thinking about the evening and wondering why she felt so happy. 

"Hi Rorry," she muttered to her owl. "For the first time tonight, somebody spoke to me like I was a human... not just a worker or slave. It felt good..." she closed her eyes and let every word of the conversation play back in her mind.

She was slowly falling asleep when she heard a little beep-beep noise in the background. She cursed a few times, nearly tipped Rorry over trying to stand up, and went into the kitchen looking around frantically for her Pockerpager, a little black paging machine that they used around the newspaper offices a lot.

She finally found it sitting under the sink (?) and saw a little blinking message. 

__

Granger, we just got wind of an excellent story. There is going to be a ball held not tomorrow but the next night and we need you to be there, nobody else is available. All of the rich, social elite of the wizarding world will be there - the rich, the wealthy, the famous- you get the jist. Unfortunately I have a dragon tour I have to take my son to so you're the only one left. Don't let us down, this is your big chance! -Albert

Hermione nearly screamed. How exciting! Her first REAL story! The Prophet were relying on _her_ now, not any other reporter, just HER because they knew she had the talent to be a journalist and now, so did she. Hermione didn't waste another second, throwing the Pockerpager back down under the sink without thinking, she ran to her desk and immediately started making notes on what she knew so far. Oh this was going to be brilliant, she just knew it!

* * * * *

Albert was waiting for her the next morning and as she arrived in his office she couldn't help but let a little yawn slip.

"Tired already?" remarked Albert, baiting her. "How are you going to survive in the real world?"

He said 'real world' as if the only real world was the one he lived in. Hermione wanted to throttle him.

Instead, she smiled, sat down after making a great fuss about having to clear off some old books first and then faced him, ready to accept her task.

"Well this ball that's taking place is going to be in the London Society of Magically Pompous People's Royal Grand Hall, this Friday night. It will start at seven thirty and I require you to be there by seven so you can record the proceedings from the very earliest possible. Um... you have to look, uh presentable so none of those muggle tracksuit pants or anything. Make sure you do a good job on this Granger, I'm giving you a chance here and you can't stuff it up. Have 1000 words on my desk by Monday got it?"

"Got it," replied Hermione.

"Good, well now... shoo, out of my office. You're taking up far too much space."

Hermione didn't even bother getting herself worked up over his blatant rudeness. She simply gave him one last grin before disappearing off down the hall to clean up after another clumsy reporter who'd no doubt just spilt the coffee she'd made.

* * * * *

Friday came around quickly and soon it was time for the long awaited Ball. Hermione had made many plans as to what she was going to wear, what she was going to write and how she was going to go about the whole deal. By the time it was 4 o' clock in the afternoon Hermione had already set out her outfit over her bed, fed Rorry his dinner and put a bag together for herself full of spare quills, plenty of parchment, her pockerpager and a little bit of make-up for touch ups. She had had second thoughts about the make-up but she'd thrown it in away, because you could never be too sure.

Hermione sat at her desk for the next two hours doing practically nothing. She paced up and down her room for a little while, tried different hair styles after that (but that got boring) and eventually when she couldn't test her patience any further, she changed into her outfit for the evening.

It had been something she'd chosen on the very day she'd had the meeting with Albert. She'd gone from work straight into Madalina's, a nice little boutique in the same area as the Daily Prophet. As soon as she had entered the store she had been pounced on by shop staff each pulling her in different directions. After no less than three, long exhausting hours she finally found the perfect outfit. Hermione was pretty sure she had tried on everything in the shop.

She stood in the small, old mirror and examined herself. Not too shabby. She wore a simple long black dress with a high neckline and a daring back. On her feet were black heels that weren't too high because as she had learnt from experience, they hurt a lot after awhile.

Hermione quickly did her hair using some hair straightening cream and soon enough she looked as ready as she'd ever be. She wasn't even sure why she was making such a big deal out of her appearance. She highly doubted she'd know anybody there and even though at first she'd wondered whether the Nicholson's would be going but considering none of them had mentioned it during the week she assumed not. She decided not to talk about to them either because the last thing she wanted was for them to demand invitations.

At 6.50pm, Hermione looked around the house, checking everything was locked and in place, gave Rorry a bowl of fresh water and gave herself one last look in the mirror. She grabbed her black handbag that held a surprisingly large amount of stuff and stood in front of her fireplace.

With a handful of floo powder and a clearly spoken 'London Society of Magically Pompous People's Royal Grand Hall', she was off and on her way.

Hermione arrived a split second later and gave herself a quick dusting off before nervously making her way into the Grand Hall. She took a deep breath before acknowledging the doorman with a nod and let him open the door for her. As she stepped inside, she could feel her eyes widen to the size of small saucers and a big grin made it's mark on her face.

The Hall looked simply splendid! Chandeliers hung from the ceiling, their crystals tinkling in the warm yellow light. Tables were arranged with beautiful floral decorations wrapped around them and waiters were beginning to transport some of the cold food to them, ready for 7.30 when the ball would officially start.

There were only a handful of other people standing around. Some looked like other journalists judging from their parchments and quills.

She looked around nervously, not quite knowing what to do. Suddenly a short little man appeared at her side.

"Ello," he said shaking her hand. "I'm Perry Watermouth, chairperson of the London Society of Magically Pompous People. Who are you?"

"My name is Hermione Granger," Hermione replied. "I'm the reporter representing The Daily Prophet."

"Oh," he said, putting his nose in the air. "I thought you were someone important," he added before walking away, his neck stretched so far he began to look a little like a dwarf giraffe.

Hermione was a little startled by his reaction but then again she told herself, what could you expect from the chairperson of the London Society of Magically _Pompous People_?

She considered putting their conversation down on parchment but she figured she was meant to be writing about how good this ball was, not how lousy and rude it's guests were.

Finally after a very boring and pointless thirty minute wait, 7.30 came around on the big golden grandfather clock in the corner of the hall.

Hermione looked at the doors, almost expecting the guests to start pouring in, as did a few of the other reporters but sadly, no one arrived. It appeared they liked being 'fashionably late'.

Eventually, guests started filing in and Hermione found herself a nice little observation stand where she was able to see everyone who entered without getting in the way. She madly scribbled down names, clothing, partners and transport as the Hall quickly filled up with noise and chatter.

Towards one end of the hall an orchestra was playing and Hermione took a break to watch them after her hand felt like it would drop off from so much writing. She smiled as people began to dance and loosen up with the various 'happy' drinks being served in fancy glasses with incredibly delicate long stems.

She put away her parchment after awhile and decided to have a wander around, mingling with the guests. She was offered a drink and kindly accepted and continued to observe and listen in on as much conversation as possible.

"Hermione?" said a voice behind her.

Hermione spun around and was shocked to see Oliver Wood standing there smiling at her.

She was immediately taken back by his good looks, which were very obvious in the dress robes he was wearing. He looked very, very smart and very, very charming. His head was tilted slightly the left and there was a keen twinkle in his eye.

"Oliver!" Hermione cried with a grin.

"I didn't know you would be here!" he replied, walking over a bit closer.

"I know," Hermione said. "I didn't think I would either. I'm here for the Daily Prophet, it's my first real article. Didn't know you'd be here…"

"No, it was a last minute thing. Dad got an invitation this morning and being so up with the people he told us we had to come or he'd suffer immense punishment," Oliver imitated what must have been his father's voice.

Hermione laughed at his humorous side.

"So Daily Prophet huh? They finally realise what a legend they have with them?" he continued.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "I wish. Actually, they were low on staff. I was the only one who could make it."

"Oh well," Oliver said shrugging. "Everyone needs to make their way there somehow."  
  
"You're right."  
  
"So anyway, you look smashing!" Oliver told her, glancing down appreciatively.

Hermione could feel her cheeks burning up. "Why uh, thank you. You look amazing too," she said quickly.

Oliver chuckled. "Yeah right…"

"No seriously," Hermione said quietly. 

There was brief awkward silence until Oliver spoke again. "I'd offer to dance however I don't like to dance."

His comment made Hermione giggle. "No, I know what you mean. I'm a terrible dancer."

"Can I offer you a drink then?" he asked.

Hermione held up the glass in her hand.

"Right," he said, turning pink for not noticing. "You already have one…"

The conversation progressed well from there and they made themselves comfortable near one of the walls, just talking. Hermione was very relieved to be in such a lovely presence. She felt good talking to Oliver about anything, they could have been talking about dog bones and she would still have thought it wonderful.

"Oliver!" interrupted a rude voice.

Hermione glanced to her left and to her disgust she found herself staring at Annabella. She was wearing a long light blue dress made of silk. Her blonde hair was put in perfect waves and on her face was so much make-up Hermione was surprised she could still recognise her. Obviously Annabella hadn't recognised Hermione yet but then again her eyes were only on Oliver.

"Annabella, hi," Oliver said, briefly taking his eyes off Hermione to look at her.

"Do you want to dance?" Annabella asked, completely ignoring Hermione.

"Actually no, I…" Oliver trailed off. "I was about to dance with this young lady actually." He glanced at Hermione and his eyes only read 'Please, help me.'

"Yes that's right," Hermione interrupted, catching on.

Annabella stared at Hermione in shock. "Hermione Granger?" she screeched. "What are you doing here?"

"I was invited," was all Hermione told her. "Are we going to dance?" she asked Oliver, letting him take her arm.

"Sorry Annabella," Oliver said, pushing past her but not sounding the slightest bit sorry at all.

****

Author's Note: I was going to keep going but I realised that would make for an incredibly long chapter. As it is, I am up to 7 pages in Word just for this one. Anyway, hope you're enjoying it as much as you enjoyed the first three chapters. Make sure you let me know what you think!

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	5. The Shoe

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Chapter Five… 'The Shoe'

As Oliver nervously led Hermione out onto the dance floor, Annabella stood back, glaring at them with her make-up covered eyes. Hermione slightly tripped on the hem of her dress, nearly causing her to fall flat on her face but like any good fairy tale, Oliver was luckily there to catch her.

"Have a nice trip?" he asked, supporting her waist.

Hermione very, un-elegantly untangled herself from her dress and stood up properly. "Well I suppose we have to dance now?" she practically whispered in fear.

"I guess so," Oliver replied, quickly glancing over to Annabella who was watching them with great interest. His eyes darted back to Hermione. "She's still watching."

"Right," Hermione said. "Okay then, we can do this, we can dance, it can't be that hard, I mean we did it at school right, uhuh, just one foot, then two feet, then just stepping to the music right, right?" Hermione sounded like she was re-assuring herself more than him.

"Exactly," mumbled Oliver, fumbling to find the right position. "Couldn't have said it better myself."

Eventually, after what seemed like about ten days, they seemed to be standing in what looked slightly like how dance partners were meant to stand. Oliver's arm was on Hermione's shoulder, stiff as a board and Hermione was rigidly standing with one hand on Oliver's shoulder, the other in his sweaty hand.

"This is mighty uncomfortable," she remarked, teeth gritted.

"I know," he replied, clumsily trying to lead her through a waltz. "This is ridiculous."

"Ouch!" she cried as he trod on her delicately enclosed foot.

"Sorry!" he replied, tensing up from embarrassment.

"It's okay," she tried to laugh it off, but struggling against the throbbing pain sensation in her big toe.

"Are you all right?" Oliver asked, letting go of her and sincerely humiliated that he had caused her so much pain.

Hermione was choking back the tears. "Yep… fine…" she coughed.

Oliver's eyes widened. "Hermione, if you don't get that shoe off I think your foot might swell so much you won't ever be able to get it off."

The thought of that happening was enough to convince Hermione to stop dancing. She let Oliver help her hobble aside to where some seats were set up and luckily for them, Annabella had obviously lost interest and had disappeared out of sight.

"I'm so sorry," bumbled Oliver, pouring Hermione a glass of punch.

Hermione smiled. "It's okay Oliver, really, it's fine. You didn't kill me."

"I know, I know… okay, so let me take a look at this foot of yours…" he knelt down in front of her and gently tried to remove her high heeled shoe. It didn't budge. Obviously the swelling had already started.

However as Oliver had always been told by his grandfather, 'if at first you don't succeed. Try again. Harder.'

So Oliver went at the shoe again, this time forgetting all gentleness and tugged, pulled and jerked the shoe off Hermione's foot, while she sat there, trying her mighty hardest not to cry out loud.

It wasn't until Oliver looked up that he noticed he had caused Hermione pain.

"Oh, sorry," he said, his lower lip out guiltily.

"It's fine really," she replied. "At least it's off now."

They both peered at her left foot to closer assess the damage.

It didn't look as bad as Hermione had predicted it might but it certainly hurt like hell. The curse that had been put on Hermione back in third year was no where near the amount of pain her foot was currently in. She swallowed as best she could and tried with all her might to forgive Oliver for practically trampling it. If anything, she had been warned he was a terrible dancer.

Red marks were quickly appearing with lots of bumps and bruises covering mainly the area of her big toe. Oliver winced when he saw it but could only pat her on the head apologetically.

Hermione sighed. There would definitely be no more dancing tonight.

They both heard a little 'beep beep' suddenly and looked around for where the noise was coming from.

Hermione realised it was her pockerpager and reached into her bag. "Great Wizards," she cried, leaping off her seat despite the horrendous pain.

"What is it Hermione?" Oliver asked, frantically trying to get her to sit down again.

"It's Harry and Ron," explained Hermione, rushing to collect her belongings. "They came to visit and found my house had been robbed and trashed. Oh Oliver, I have to get home immediately! I'm so sorry for causing such chaos for you!" Hermione grabbed the hems of her dress, hoisting it up around her ankles and rushing out the door, forgetting all about her foot and her shoe which Oliver was left holding, staring after her as she disappeared out of the hall doors.

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Author's Note: Yay, finally some Cinderella relevance! Thanks for all the beautiful reviews people… can I ask a favour? When you leave a review can you try and sign in please because I would love to return the nice gesture for you or at least thank you personally.

On a totally non-fanfiction note, if you haven't seen the film Chicago yet, please do yourself a favour and see it. It's pure brilliance. 


	6. Hermione's House

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Chapter Six… 'Hermione's House'

Hermione arrived home in her fireplace, panting for air and covered in all the Floo powder gone wrong. She had practically thrown herself into the fire place at the Grand Hall and nearly ended up in a completely different house.

She raced out of the chimney and straight into the first room, the lounge area. Hermione froze in shock.

Every single item she owned was either lying on the floor, shattered or gone. Hermione vaguely recorded that Harry and Ron were standing in the corner just watching her reaction but the rest of her was thrown into a cycle of devastation.

"Oh my…" she breathed heavily, trying to take it all in.

Hermione had never had a whole lot of stuff, living off the wages she got from the Nicholsons but she had had a number of special heirlooms and favourite possessions. Whoever had done this however hadn't left much behind. As she paced through each room of the house she found that everything from her mother's pearls to her set of gold writing quills had been stolen.

Finally, she turned around and faced Harry and Ron who had till this moment been standing there in silence not really knowing what to say.

"Why?" was all she said before running towards them and grabbing them both in a huge bear hug where she couldn't even find the emotions for tears.

"It's okay," whispered Harry as he stroked her hair and Ron nervously tried to pat her on the back.

After awhile she let go and sunk in a pile in the middle of the lounge room floor. "Thanks Harry, Ron… would you mind if you left? I just need to be alone."

"Sure," they replied, gathering their jackets and leaving through the fireplace. "Take care Herms and send us an owl if you need anything…"

All she could do was nod before the realisation of it all hit her and she became overwhelmed by tears.

* * * * *

Oliver meanwhile had gone home to his empty, dark house still clutching onto Hermione's shoe. For some reason this night had really captured him and Hermione was all he could think about. He considered sending her an owl but decided against it as he didn't want to intervene in her already very hectic life.

He ran his fingers up and down the point of the shoe. It was a pretty shoe, he really liked it. However he liked it more when Hermione had been wearing it. Oliver sighed. There was really no use thinking about her now. He could pretty much bet on the fact that she wasn't thinking about him right now… she would be far more concerned with more important things, like her home for example.

He continued to fight off the urge to contact her. Trying to take his mind off their awkward dancing and her pretty smile, he went to his cupboard and sorted through a pile of clothes until he placed his hand on his broomstick. Pulling it out and waving away all the dust, he sighed. It had been a very long time since he'd ridden it.

* * * * *

It was dark outside but Oliver had always enjoyed the thrill of riding at night time. It gave him a buzz of adrenalin just knowing that he was taking a risk and living dangerously.

He slid up onto the broom handle like a pro and shifted his weight until he found his riding stance again. He wondered how long it had been since the broomstick had seen air? Maybe two years? Three even?

Oliver tried not to drudge up the memories but eventually, as he lifted off the soft ground he couldn't help but think about Tasha and all the things she did.

The feeling of soaring through the air felt similar to drinking water after being parched for days. His body felt complete and rejuvenated. Oliver began to wonder why he had forced himself to stop. However deep down inside, he knew exactly why.

Tasha had been the first girl Oliver had really been in love with. He remembered the first time they met, at a local Quidditch game in Devon. Oliver had been visiting relatives and he had asked a stunning looking girl for directions to their house. She not only given him directions but taken him there too. Along the short walk, he had fallen in love right away with her.

Since then he had visited Tasha every two weeks. It was exhausting but in Oliver's eyes, worth every second. He couldn't stand being away from her and he believed she felt the same. He loved every single piece of her from a long, dark hair to her big brown eyes and perfect smile.

The more he thought about her as he soared through the clouds, the more it hurt him.

Tasha had been a mad Quidditch fan too and definitely good on a broomstick. She always gave Oliver a run for his money though she was more a Chaser than a Keeper.

Everything had been perfect until one day… they'd been flying and a sudden storm emerged. Well not even Tasha could have predicted the lightning that shot down nearby, shaking the entire area, making her lose her concentration until she… fell.

Oliver winced remembering. The doctors said she died on impact but he couldn't take their word. He just hoped she hadn't felt any pain.

Since that day, he hadn't set a foot near his broom. It was just too horrible to remember.

Now, however, he felt free. He felt her presence constantly but he knew she would want him to move on and be happy. He had lived in pain for three years now and he knew it was time to say good bye to Tasha. She'd always be in his memories but he couldn't let her run his life any more. He was still so young and now, perhaps this was a chance for him to start over. 

"Good bye Tasha," Oliver said out loud, as he flew over the apple orchards that they'd always enjoyed hovering over.

Somewhere, inside of him, he heard her say 'good bye'.

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	7. To be Continued

And so the story shall continue...  
  
But under a different pen-name.  
  
Please find the user 'outtatune' as this is my new 'handle' as they say. I hope to continue this particular story and also a new one I'm working on.  
  
Sorry it's been so long folks.  
  
Love, Sam 


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